Too Good
by xxhsmTGxx
Summary: If someone seems too good to be true, it's likely because they are. Troy Bolton is a respected doctor, caring husband, and loving father with one major weakness - Gabriella Montez, the innocent preschool teacher by day and pistol-whipping dominatrix by night. (Troyella, beta-read by DocWordsmith)
1. Too Alone

Gabriella Montez was a good woman most days. Monday through Friday from seven am until five pm, she was a preschool teacher. She would leave her little apartment on the strip and drive all the way out to a nice suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of Las Vegas' city limits. The soccer moms still gleaming with sweat from their morning spin classes lined the sidewalk in front of the elementary school. They rushed their kids out the sliding minivan doors and screeched off across the parking lot (because their Starbucks mobile order was waiting, of course). Gabriella met the little kids at the entrance with a welcoming smile and a bundle of papier-mâché daisies that she passed out to each of her students. On Sunday she attended church and called her mother in Albuquerque. She served food to the homeless, pulled weeds at the community garden, and walked the dogs at the animal shelter. Sunday morning until Saturday afternoon, Gabriella Montez was as good as good could get.

But every Saturday night that all changed.

Because on Saturday night, she turned into a heartless dominatrix called April.

She performed a ritual of sorts to channel her dominatrix alter ego. It started with a stick of incense from Hot Topic called First Rain. It filled her already congested bathroom with a smell like dewy grass and mud on a humid Spring morning. She lit the incense and dropped it upright in a little yellow and green vase, then twisted her soaked brunette locks onto the crown of her head and clipped it in place. A playlist of Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, and Cradle of Filth rang out with demented lyrics and haunting instrumentals. She used a dark palette to give herself dramatic, smoky eyes and a light foundation to create ghostly skin. With every careful stroke of eyeliner and meticulously glued fake eyelash, April rose to the surface from the murky depths of Gabriella's deepest subconscious.

Gabriella doused the incense in the sink and checked her reflection one last time while April stalked just behind the glass in the mirror. She threw a black corset, stiletto boots, and leather shorts into an old Adidas gym bag and set off for Madame's Dungeon of Desires.

Madame was already a tall woman without the nine-inch stilettos, but she wore them anyways to tower over anyone who crossed her. She had a permanent frown and unamused gaze fixed on her otherwise pleasant features. It was this serious stare that always intimidated Gabriella because she could never tell what it was that Madame was truly thinking. Happy or sad, excited or bored, it was always the same stoic gaze out of those flat grey eyes like a one-emotion-fits-all mask.

Madame founded the dungeon in the late 90s to service BDSM and other kinks. Since they were located within Las Vegas, which was in Clark County, the law forbid them from prostituting like the brothels outside the city could. But Madame found a loophole. As long as the client only touched _himself_, the workers couldn't be considered prostitutes. The inspectors still hadn't found a good argument against it yet, so they operated in a very narrow shade of grey.

The building was a gorgeous Victorian era castle with stained glass and a tower where Madame kept her office. The layout in the basement was designed in a circle. The hallway was ring-shaped and lined with doors into the private rooms, and each of those rooms had another door on the opposite end leading to the communal dressing room in the very core of the circle. Gabriella had to enter through the back of the mansion, the steppingstones led her between the iron fence and past the garden to the back patio. She lifted her gym bag up to the door lock and the ID badge in her wallet made it unlatch. After a claustrophobic walk down a hazardously narrow spiral staircase, Gabriella lifted the bag again outside her door and walked straight through to the dressing room.

Passing between the rows of dominatrices in various stages of undress, she came to her spot. "Late," Gold said. Her name wasn't really Gold, of course, like Gabriella's wasn't really April. But Gabriella wouldn't know what else to call her since Madame forbid the workers from sharing details about themselves – including their real names. But Gold seemed fitting for this woman. She really was _gold_, everything from the streaks of gold in her blonde hair and the gold corset and gold stilettos.

Gold spoke in an English accent Gabriella long speculated was fake, but that wasn't why Gabriella disliked her. Rather, it was from her inability to mind her own business and an obsession with being Madame's favorite.

"What are you, keeping tabs on me?" April snapped, because Gabriella never could.

Gold didn't respond but bent over the counter and leaned up to the mirror, filling in her eyebrows with a sparkly gold pencil. Gabriella poured out her dominatrix attire onto her counter and paused for a moment to close her eyes and take a deep breath. This had to be the perfect performance…one only April could deliver.

* * *

April stepped into the room in a pair of thigh-high leather stiletto boots. She slammed the door shut and the room fell pitch black. Her fingers reached through the darkness and rested on the light switch for a moment before sliding the dimmer up halfway.

Tonight's victim was a regular at the dungeon. She didn't know his name, but she knew he was homeless by the fateful day she served him soup at the shelter. He didn't seem so ashamed, but Gabriella couldn't handle the recognition. She was so stunned by the unpleasant surprise that she accidentally overfilled his bowl onto her wrist. She cussed and excused herself to the back to ice it, but the burn of that encounter always remained with her. It was a good thing then that Gabriella wasn't here. Now he had to answer to April who, unfortunately for him, knew how to work a riding crop.

April approached the man knelt on the ground with his hands trembling in the air. She reached for the handgun, but the moment she held it in her grip, she could feel that this one was different than the props they had used before. Heavier, more metallic, more…real.

_Did he bring a real handgun into the dungeon?_ Gabriella thought and immediately took over again. One voice told her to end the roleplay, but the April in her whispered that being a snitch wouldn't get her any more gigs.

Without a moment left to reconsider, she made her decision. "Give me your money," April said in a low, growling voice. She pressed the handgun firmly into the back of his skull.

"Please," the man cried, "you don't have to do this!"

"Shut up!" shouted April. The handgun began to wiggle in her grip as he rattled with fear. "Give me your wallet."

He sobbed, "I don't have any money."

She cocked the gun. "Give me your money, now!"

He squealed, "No, please!"

"I said _now_!"

"I don't have any money!"

Her eyes bulged in her head like she was tempted to use that gun for what it was really built for. It wasn't often that she lost patience with the desperate men in the dungeon, but this guy was pushing it. It felt like they had been at it for nearly ten minutes already and he still hadn't touched his zipper. She wondered if it wasn't about getting off anymore…maybe he wanted her to actually kill him. She asked, "Do you want to die tonight?"

He squeaked, "No." His hands went down to his pants.

"I'm not going to ask again. I will fucking kill you. I'll splatter your brains on this concrete if you don't give me your fucking wallet."

"Please," he cried.

"Any last words?"

"Oh, fuck!" He heaved and snatched a tissue out of the box on the coffee table so fast it tumbled onto the floor. Gabriella regained control and set the gun on the end table. He tossed the used tissue away and slowly, stiffly crawled onto his feet. "Wow! Thanks, honey. That was the best session I've ever had. You should consider acting."

"Do you want an appointment this time next month?"

"You got it, April." He turned towards the door.

"Wait!" She called out to him. "You forgot your..." Her voice trailed off and she timidly pointed to the gun.

"Oh shit," he chuckled, "thank you." He shimmied the weapon into his pants between his belt and beer gut. "Take it easy."

"I intend to."

Before the door between them could even come to a complete close, she had already released the tie on the back of her constricting corset. She went through the back door into the communal dressing room where two women she knew by the names Diamond and Velvet were already inside. Gabriella approached her mirror and eavesdropped as she dragged a fresh make up wipe across her chest to remove the contour from her cleavage.

Velvet plopped her foot up on the swiveling chair by her counter to untie her black knee-high boots. She said with a strained voice as she wrestled with the shoe, "I've heard of girls getting scars from the laser. I don't think it's worth the risk."

Velvet had a big-eyed and round-cheeked baby face framed by brunette locks that she always failed to keep contained in a messy bun on the crown of her head. Gabriella thought she might be a librarian by the way she talked in a constant whisper and kept to herself like a bookworm, but there was no way to confirm that without breaking Madame's code.

Diamond argued, "Waxing is just such a pain in the ass. Literally." Diamond had dark skin and the most modest outfit with tight faux leather bicycle shorts that reached half way down her thighs and a tight fishnet shirt beneath her navy-blue corset. Gabriella noticed early on that the way she carried herself and spoke was always so quick and clever. She had a way with words like few others Gabriella had met inside or outside the dungeon. But she also seemed so serious and efficient. Gabriella envisioned her rushing around a law firm with pens overflowing her blazer pocket and a large stack of case files.

The pink door with a glittery white star spanning across the wood blew open and Sharpay announced herself, "I've had enough!" She scooped up the makeup sprawled across her hot pink counter back into her Louis Vuitton tote and ranted, "Whenever I complain to Madame, it's always the same bullshit excuse. _The client is always right_. Do I look like a retail worker?" She forced a comb through her mane of teased blonde curls when the handle snapped off. "Damn it!"

Velvet picked up the few pieces from the carpet and offered, "I have hot glue at home if you want me to fix it."

Sharpay shook her head. "I'll buy a new one." She sighed and lamented, "If only daddy hadn't cut my allowance, then I wouldn't have to put up with any of this bullshit." The room fell silent, apart from the muffled sounds of whips connecting with skin and groans of pain from the surrounding rooms. Sharpay shrugged and asked, "What did I say?"

Velvet shyly scratched behind her ear and whispered, "You know Madame's rules." It was an inarguable point. Madame wanted everyone to keep their outside lives private. Period. She apparently had even fired a worker for friend requesting a client on Facebook and dismissed another bunch for having a group text. As curious as Gabriella was about the lives of the other women in the dungeon, she knew it wasn't wise to disobey Madame.

Sharpay looked over her shoulder at Velvet and asked, "Do you always follow the rules, even when they oppress you?"

Diamond interrupted, "Did you say _oppress_?"

Sharpay answered, "Yes, it means to be restrained."

"I know what it means, Sharpay. I'm just surprised you could confuse it with professionalism."

"So you think it's professional for a job to forbid you from talking to your coworkers about anything else besides work?"

"It doesn't matter what I think of the code." Diamond shrugged. "But I do think I want to keep my job so I will follow the code."

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Relax, Diamond. I pinkie promise I won't tell a soul. Go on, tell us about you. What do you do?"

Diamond countered, "For all you know, _this_ is what I do."

Sharpay teased, "What are you, scared?" She crossed the room, plucked her cropped fur coat off the back of the door, swung it over her shoulders and said, "I'm not going to pretend that my life ends the moment I leave this dungeon any longer." Gabriella approached her counter on the opposite wall and packed her things, but she instinctively looked up at her mirror and made eye contact with Sharpay already staring at her from over her shoulders. A mischievous smile grew across her face, concerning Gabriella. "I'm going to say it."

Gabriella turned around and found herself inches apart and face-to-face with the woman. She leaned back away from her and asked, "Say what?"

"We should get drinks."

In a panic, Velvet rambled, "_Drinks_? Are you crazy? We could get fired if Madame finds out."

Sharpay argued, "_If _she finds out, which she never will. We just have to keep our pretty little mouths shut. Sounds easy enough, right?" Diamond was pretending not to hear any of the conversation, so Gabriella shared an apprehensive glance with Velvet.

"Fine," Sharpay said. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the floor, visibly bothered.

Gabriella said, "It's nothing personal."

"I'll never ask again," Sharpay promised.

Gabriella reached beneath her counter and took out her bag full of regular clothes – a pair of high waisted jean-shorts and an old sweater. As she changed, Sharpay walked to the door with designer bags hanging off each arm. She opened the door and froze in the doorway, then turned back and stepped inside again. She walked all the way back to the others and quietly announced, "I'm not asking, but I'll be at the coffeeshop off the strip at noon tomorrow. I think it'd be such a pleasant _coincidence_ for all of you to be there too."

* * *

It was Sunday – the Lord's day. And was Gabriella really considering meeting with a fellow dominatrix for coffee in the middle of the afternoon on _the Lord's day_?

She stirred the goop of honey into her tea much like how the thoughts stirred in her mind. She _should_ obey Madame's code. She _should_ pray and call her mom like every Sunday before. She _should_ keep April in the dungeon, but what she really _wanted,_ no,_ needed _was friends.

In order to move to Las Vegas, Gabriella had to dump her deadbeat boyfriend, abandon her old friends, and spend every last dime from her student loans on a security deposit for her apartment. If she couldn't go out because she spent her entire evening hunched over her laptop for online classes, it was because she simply had no money left to spend. And everyone she encountered at church and where she volunteered already seemed so wrapped up in their own lives.

Gabriella desperately wanted to talk to the girls, _really_ talk to them about something other than makeup and the best whipping technique. She wanted to know their experience, inside and outside the dungeon. She wanted to finally make a friend in Las Vegas, and this seemed like the only way it would ever happen.

Gabriella left her little sofa and checked the electronic clock on her stove. It said 1:00pm, but she hadn't figured out how to adjust it for daylight savings time yet, so it was actually noon. She tossed her tea down the sink, grabbed a light jacket to throw on, and stepped out into the street.

Through the thin sheet-like blinds, Gabriella spotted a figure in pink. She stepped inside and found Sharpay waiting at a table in a light pink polo and a white visor, looking like she just left a tennis match with her sugar daddy. Her brown eyes peered down at the phone resting on the table until Gabriella took a seat across from her. Gabriella could tell from Sharpay's blank look that she didn't recognize her. Sharpay squinted her eyes inquisitively and asked in disbelief, "_April_?"

Gabriella averted her gaze to the dark wooden table between them and let out a short, awkward laughed, wondering if being unrecognizable without the glamorous makeup was a bad thing. It certainly didn't feel like a compliment. She shrugged and said, "Yes. Believe it or not."

"Wow. You look so…so…"

"Different?"

"Plain."

Gabriella blinked, taken back from Sharpay's bluntness. "Oh. Well, you look dazzling as always."

"Yeah, thanks," Sharpay mindlessly said. Her mouth dropped agape, and her head tilted to the side as if she couldn't tell what it was that she was looking at.

Gabriella felt like a newly discovered alien species underneath her scrutinizing stare. She snapped, "Can you stop staring at me?"

"I just wasn't expecting you, is all."

"I'm plain," Gabriella said, "I get it."

"No, I meant I wasn't expecting you at all."

"You invited me."

"Yes, but I didn't think anyone would show up. Especially you." Again, Gabriella felt that wasn't a compliment. Just when she began to feel that coming here was a mistake, the chair besides her screeched. She looked over her shoulder to find no one other than Diamond. Much like the law clerk Gabriella envisioned her to be, she came wearing a light blue blouse and a black pencil skirt reaching just below her knees.

"Sorry I'm late," Diamond said as she unbuttoned her blazer. She explained, "I had to vacuum my stairs."

Velvet appeared next and silently took her place in the last seat. Sharpay spoke first, "Never thought I'd see the day."

Gabriella smiled and shook her head in disbelief. Was this was really happening? Could it be possible that an unlikely group of women (and _dominatrices _at that) were hidden amongst families and businesspeople in the middle of a Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon? She said, "Where do we even start?"

Diamond asked, "How did you come up with the name April?"

Gabriella smiled and felt blood rise to her cheeks as she answered, "April is in the springtime and I make men cry until they're raining tears. How about you?"

"Rough like a diamond."

Velvet began to giggle, but Gabriella didn't know what for. She asked, "Sharpay, why did you choose a dog's name?"

She held a serious stare for a moment before she answered, "Sharpay is my real name, thank you very much."

The table dropped painfully silent. Diamond cleared her throat and asked Sharpay, "Well…why did you use your real name?"

Sharpay explained, "Reverse psychology. Everyone assumes I'm using a fake name, so they'd never guess it's my real name."

Diamond admitted, "That's actually pretty brilliant."

Sharpay asked, "What are your real names?" Again, the table fell silent, and Gabriella was unsure where to look. "Why is that so weird? We have to know each other's names if we're going to be friends, right?"

Not needing much more to convince her, Gabriella folded. She said, "It's Gabriella."

Velvet said, "That's really pretty. Mine is Kelsi."

The others looked to Diamond, who was still holding out. Sharpay coaxed her, "C'mon, Diamond. Surely it can't be as embarrassing as Sharpay," she looked to Kelsi who sank into her chair.

Diamond bit her lower lip and looked around as if Madame could be stalking somewhere. She leaned against the table and spoke quietly, "Taylor."

For the first time since Gabriella encountered them at the dungeon, she relaxed. They weren't April, Velvet, Diamond, or Sharpay (well, Sharpay was still Sharpay). They were no longer in the dungeon where a stale animosity hung in the air. Now they weren't competition or colleagues. They were just themselves, girls, allowed to let the conversation flow where it may and learn whatever they wanted about each other. It was the most wholesome and unimaginable way she could have met up with a group of sex workers in a Starbucks on the Lord's day.

* * *

Gabriella devoted Sunday evening to cleaning her apartment, which was in theme with the day since they say cleanliness is close to godliness. She scrubbed the toilet, scrubbed the shower, scrubbed her oven. She dusted, vacuumed, and wiped down the windows. Heaps of clothes piled up on her bed, so she pulled off her bedding and wrapped it all up like a knapsack. She dragged the makeshift laundry bag downstairs to the complex's laundry room and put in a couple loads. Then as she passed through the hallway, she unlocked her mailbox and grabbed all that had compiled in the past week. She tossed the mail onto her dining room table, sifting through coupons and spam before finding an envelope with no return address. Her name and address were written with a shaky hand by the state of the messy letters. She tore it open and looked inside to find a handful of twenty-dollar bills.

Then her phone rang.

Gabriella recognized the photo through the cracked screen and answered, "Hey mom. I was just about to call you."

"Well I would hope so! It's been hours. I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I went to the coffeeshop…with _friends_!"

Lisa rejoiced, "Oh Gabriella, that's wonderful! Where did you meet them?"

"The restaurant," Gabriella lied. Her parents, although divorced, were both conservative Roman Catholics. If they found out she worked in a kink dungeon, they'd probably go into cardiac arrest, or disown her, or do both at once. So she told them she picked up a night shift at a twenty-four hour waffle house on the weekends.

Lisa asked, "What are their names?"

"Sharpay, Velv – I mean, Kelsi! And…umm…Taylor."

"I'm so happy for you, but…" her voice drifted away and the line went silent.

"What is it?" Gabriella's eyebrows furrowed and she pressed the phone deeper against her ear, fearing there was bad news about grandma or something else equally terrible.

"Your father emailed me today."

Gabriella scoffed out a short laugh in relief. She knew exactly what this was about and couldn't be bothered to act the slightest bit concerned. She wished her parents hated each other like divorced couples were supposed to, but instead they kept in contact. Unfortunately for Gabriella, this meant that her father could rat her out to her mom for ignoring him.

Lisa asked, "Haven't you spoken to him since you moved?"

"I'm busy. You know how it is during a move."

"It's been nearly half a year, Gabriella. That's no excuse."

Gabriella sauntered into her kitchenette and opened the fridge, squeezing her phone between her ear and shoulder as she spun off the cap to her milk. "I don't know why you care."

"I care because you're my daughter and deserve to have a relationship with your father." She took a deep whiff of the milk and squinted her eyes, deciding just how sour was too sour for milk to still be good. "Hello?"

"I'm here."

"Will you give him a call, please? For me."

She closed the fridge and held her phone up to her ear while pouring the last half gallon of spoiled milk down the drain. "It's between him and me."

"Promise me you'll consider reaching out. I need to get back to work. The nursing assistants are swamped with call lights."

"Okay." Embarrassed she couldn't be independent enough to refuse it, Gabriella quietly tacked on, "Thank you for the money."

"Of course, _mija_." Gabriella returned her phone to the side table at the end of her couch. She sat against the ripped fabric in the back of the couch and folded her legs underneath her, finding April looking back at her in the useless, broken TV's reflection.


	2. Too Misunderstood

Troy scooted up against the edge of his desk and leaned in until the screen coated his concerned frown with a blue glow. He jotted down the long, convoluted name of an experimental drug on his notepad before clicking onto the next page. He took one glance at the survival rate before hastily closing the browser. The statistics weren't in their favor, and he didn't need to be reminded.

There was still an hour left until he had to deliver the bad news, but the anticipation had been buzzing since he saw the test results earlier this morning. Mrs. Gardener, a forty-year-old single mother and ultra-marathoner who had never smoked a day in her life had lung cancer.

He unlocked his desk drawer and reached for his bottle of pain meds. The stress headaches had a tendency to turn into migraines, which turned into a day wasted in bed and another used sick day. He learned early in his rotations that everyone from the underpaid technicians to the chief of surgery had a crutch. For him, this meant four two-hundred milligram pills of Ibuprofen.

Troy spun off the top and poured his dose into the palm of his hand, then tossed them to the back of his throat and swallowed them dry. He returned the bottle to its rightful spot between his clipboard and stethoscope, then opened her file once more. He enlarged the chest x-ray until the cloudy accumulation of cancerous tissue occupied his entire screen. She was lucky they caught it while it was still in an early stage – most aren't – but lucky really wasn't the word for it. An 'advantaged time' was the phrase he was supposed to use. In fact, there was a whole sheet of positive synonyms the hospital suggested he use for the more fatal diagnoses.

If there was one thing he hated more than the wellness seminars, it was the diagnostic protocol. He was instructed to empathize with the patient and express 'understanding' but he refused to insult them like that. Troy didn't understand what it was like to have cancer. Saying he did undermined their first-hand 'oh shit, it's really happening to me' experience. He never said he understood, and still struggled to find a good alternative when the time came to tell someone they were dying. Maybe there wasn't one, and the rehearsed protocol only protected doctors like him from even trying to understand.

A series of quick vibrations shook the back of his wrist until he raised his forearm across his body. The notification on his watch alerted him that the appointment would begin in thirty minutes. An unrelenting pressure built in his head, stronger and stronger until the sutures connecting his skull like glue to the puzzle of bones felt seconds away from ripping apart. He rested his head on the edge of the desk and stared down at the floor, deeply inhaling through his nose and out through his mouth again and again until the pain subsided.

His computer beeped with a new email from the front desk. He opened the automated notification and read that Mrs. Gardener had checked in with the secretary. There was no use stalling any longer. Preparing never made a difference anyway. He could do everything right; he could apologize and explain every treatment option under the sun, but when Mrs. Gardener left, the only thing she would remember was Dr. Bolton regretfully telling her she'd most likely be dead in under a year.

He locked and closed the file on his computer and opened the door. Through the blur of nurses and technicians rushing through the hallway, he spotted Mrs. Gardener across the lobby. She was shrunken down into an overstretched cardigan with her bloodshot eyes fixated on an ordinary corner of the room. The first time he saw her was the day she came to the clinic after coughing up blood that same morning. She described a small amount, like red paint splattered across the porcelain canvas of her bathroom sink. He could sense her uncertainty, the type for when there's a thud in the night without explanation or evidence for danger. The type when people contemplate if they even need to be afraid yet. Today, she knew very well she needed to worry. The sickest always seemed to figure it out on their own somehow.

Her eyes connected with his in a millisecond, and she rushed over to him, the long sleeves drooping from her fingertips. "I couldn't wait anymore," she said, out of breath.

"It's not a problem." He gestured for her to enter and shut the door behind her. "Please take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No." She politely added on, "That's alright. I'd just like to know the results."

Troy logged into her file again and cleared his throat. They hadn't even begun yet his heart pounded in his chest like he was sprinting a mile. He folded his hands together on top of his desk and as difficult as it was, he forced himself to look into her puffy, vulnerable eyes. "Mrs. Gardner, the chest x-ray and biopsy showed tumors in your right lung and lymph nodes. I'm sorry, you have lung cancer." She didn't scream, or cry, or collapse, or run. She didn't do much of anything. Mrs. Gardner was frozen like whatever special soul makes someone a human had left her body and just her stunned shell remained. He could only imagine what she was thinking behind those vacant eyes, if anything at all. Troy asked her, "Mrs. Gardner?" He said her name again and laid his hand down towards her end of the table. "Mrs. Gardner, can you hear me?"

Her trance lifted and she turned to look at the x-ray on his monitor. Troy noticed the slow, subtle sway of her torso and went around the desk to kneel by her side. "Mrs. Gardner, do you feel lightheaded?" He grabbed her hand so she'd look to him, and studied her pupils for dilation.

She shook her head and softly said, "No. I…I'm fine. I'll be fine." With tears lining her eyes, she did the last thing he expected - she smiled.

Taken back, Troy asked her, "Are you sure you feel alright, Mrs. Gardener?"

The smile remained on her face as fat teardrops flowed down her cheeks. She cried out, "God has a plan, and this must be one _big _plan for me."

Troy slowly left her side and returned to his chair opposite the desk. He adjusted the buttons on the cuffs of his dress shirt, nervously popping them in and out again.

People don't believe it at first, or if they do, they scream out in a fit of snotty, tearful sobs. He once dodged an old man's left hook and had to call security to escort him out. People faint. People cuss him out. But what people don't do is smile and admire the path their God is leading them down. At least, not immediately after such a life-altering and usually life-ending diagnosis.

Unsure of what else to say, Dr. Bolton suggested, "We should discuss treatment options."

She shook her head. "I need some time to understand his plan." She gathered her purse dangling off the back of the armchair and draped it over her shoulder.

"Mrs. Gardner, it's important _we _have a plan so this doesn't spread any further."

"His plan is far more wonderful and great than anything we could ever imagine."

As someone who majored in medicinal chemistry, went to medical school, and understood every chemotherapy and surgical option available in the US, Troy had finally encountered something harder to understand than receiving a cancer diagnosis…readily accepting it. People fight cancer. People want every chemical battalion aiming and firing at the tumors like world war three is inside their body. People proudly _beat _cancer, they don't allow their bodies to become breeding grounds. He needed to convince her to pursue treatment. If not today then very, very soon. She could very easily meet this God with his master plan before she knew it.

"If you decide to limit the amount of help we give you, we can discuss alternative options that will at least keep you comfortable in your final days." He didn't need the last four words, but he tacked it on deliberately. The brief frown of terror that flashed on her face showed it was effective.

She was quick to regain her composure, straighten up in her chair, and respond, "Prayer is the only comfort I need. Thank you, Doctor." She stood and turned away towards the door.

"Of course." Troy caught up with her and gave it his last attempt, "You can always call me if something comes up. I hope you take the time you need, and maybe get something arranged for your son for when the time comes."

She hesitated in the doorway and turned to say to him, "I appreciate your concern, _Doctor_." The door glass door closed between them and he watched Mrs. Gardener disappear into the blurry haze of doctors and patients scurrying by.

After visiting the floor to check in on a few patients and borrow their charts from his nurse, Chad Danforth, Troy locked up his office and headed to the garage. His favorite parking spot was the roof directly between the exits so that few people needed to walk by in either direction. Once he got inside and placed his briefcase on the passenger seat, he used a small, stubby key on his keyring to unlock the glove compartment. He pulled out a black tablet and powered on the device. After entering a convoluted sixteen-digit password, the device displayed a plain factory setting background full of untouched applications. He scrolled over to the next screen of applications and opened a deceptively plain folder titled, _Health_.

He clicked on the only app inside, an icon just the initials O.W. Then, he began his search.

The question came up every so often, and Troy had to periodically check in with himself to see if he came to the same conclusion, but he always did: Troy was a good man, even if what he did wasn't always good.

Troy thought he was one of the lucky few who found 'The One' on the very first try: his middle school crush and high school sweetheart, Rachel Peterson. They met the very first day of seventh grade after her family moved to Reno. It was like love at first sight when her bright green eyes pierced through her overgrown brunette bangs and landed on him from across the classroom. It took all the courage his little twelve-year-old self could muster to sit at her table that day in the cafeteria, but he did. By Christmas break, they had officially become the first couple in their class.

After four winter formals and a graduation ceremony, the pair thought the next logical step was to get married. They had already been accepted to the same university and decided the best way through college was together as husband and wife. With the confidence of a naïve eighteen-year-old who thought he already knew everything there was to learn about love and relationships, he made her Rachel Bolton.

A couple years passed, and the changes became too obvious to ignore anymore. Rachel constantly complained that Troy's 'obsession' with his grades and building a competitive medical school application was ruining their relationship.

Reality was far more complicated.

Troy made the inevitable realization that he, in fact, knew nothing about life. He didn't know anything when he was eighteen and decided to marry her, and still knew absolutely nothing at twenty. The time he spent 'obsessing' over his grades was his time to discover something new about the world, and all his hours working as an ER tech and shadowing doctors were to ensure medicine was truly his calling. If that was as selfish as she liked to claim, then maybe selfish was exactly what he needed to be at that time in his life.

As well intended as Troy's educational ambitions were, Rachel was nevertheless neglected. It was like a personal attack whenever Troy couldn't make time for her because he needed to study. Her hysterical crying not only exhausted herself, but him. He'd be forced to assure her she was still a priority while knowing deep down that her greatest insecurities were correct. They weren't each other's equal priority. He realized staying with her only helped him avoid being the bad guy who filed for divorce while simultaneously ruining her life by being her absent husband. If he truly wanted what was best for the both of them, he needed to let her go. The day before Troy had scheduled his appointment with a divorce lawyer, she told him something, the _only_ thing, that could change everything for them. She was pregnant.

Having Caleb was the best thing that could have happened on Rachel's end. There was no way Troy was going to abandon their newborn son, and she accepted Troy's career choice believing it'd help support their family. She had Caleb to keep her company while Troy studied for medical school into the late evenings. In fact, having a kid was so helpful that she gave birth to their next son, Liam, once Troy started residency.

While everything was as good as it could get for Rachel, something was slowly eating away at Troy. While he still experienced fluctuations in his feelings towards her, they never peaked remotely close to what he felt in high school. The emotional connection had completely deteriorated, and the physical attraction was just as nonexistent. He didn't know which one was worse: lying every time he said he loved her or shamefully fantasizing about having sex with other women. The marriage felt necessary at this point now that they had two little boys, but his daydreams about other women were purely selfish. There was no other way about it. She had lost her old figure to motherhood and he felt like the world's greatest douchebag for not finding her attractive anymore. When Rachel became pregnant the third and final time with their only daughter, she was on cloud nine, but Troy felt as shameful and terrible as he ever had.

Although he and his wife's compatibility had gone so far down the drain it could be in the Earth's core by this point, he knew cheating wasn't what good men do. But would a better man seek a divorce and tear their family apart through custody battles, and risk losing his kids in the process?

Would a good man be miserable in order to keep his promise? Maybe, but if relinquishing his freedom to pursue happiness because of a premature, decade-old oath was what good men do, then no, he wasn't a good man. To many people, Troy recognized, sacrificing one's own happiness for the happiness of others that was the epitome of good. But Troy refused to accept that. Troy believed that if a person cannot be happy in their own existence, they cannot give goodness back into the world. A good man is a happy man, a fulfilled man, a respected and admired man; and only the women flashing by his screen had the potential to make him a good man.

O.W., standing for Other Woman, was a combination of Tinder and LinkedIn. The clients, typically rich old men, scrolled through profile after profile of beautiful women ready to do anything for a price. There was everything from strippers to blatant prostitutes, to the not-so-blatant "companions" who were basically prostitutes in denial.

Sure, they expected a fancy dinner and conversation, but at the end of the night, they were gagging on dick with mascara running down in sheets of tears just like the others.

Troy prided himself on having better taste than that. He didn't want any rough, crazy sex. He wanted passionate _love_ making, connection and intimacy, but not always the physical kind. He was looking for someone to make him happy and satisfied. Someone who could see that for him to be a good man, he had to do some bad things. Someone who understood.

He glanced through the new messages in his inbox and found none of them even the slightest bit interesting. They each led with generic greetings followed by the women's services and rates. These spam prices were extremely cheap, but that concerned him the most. He preferred to pay top dollar for women he knew were clean and would keep everything confidential. Beauty and discretion were the most crucial components in his budget.

Today proved again that the app was running dry. He had already been through most of the women in his feed at least once, and the few new ones were appeared to be cheap spam accounts or catfishes. A dangerous thought crossed his mind not for the first time. To find the connection he sought, maybe he shouldn't look for a sex worker. Maybe he should try the real world, like actual Tinder. But he quickly decided the same thing he did every time the thought crossed his mind. It was simply too dangerous. The one good thing about buying an affair was buying their confidentiality. It was far less likely a woman he wanted to date for real would be okay with his marital _and _parental status. As much as he wanted the intimacy, the client relationship kept them at a safe distance before things could become _too _serious.

Troy would need to wait until the right woman came across his feed, a woman he could see himself getting close with in every way imaginable. He'd had some luck before, but they either moved away or earned enough to leave sex work altogether. Waiting was all he could do. He turned off the tablet and locked it away for another day, and drove off down the street in the darkness of night.

* * *

The pitter patter of little feet running back and forth across the interior balcony echoed off the high ceilings and filled each room with their footsteps and giggles. As Troy laid in his bed, he kept his eyes shut as if he could squeeze them tight enough and never have to wake up again. He embraced the heavy bedsheets pinning him down and sank deeper into the plush mattress beneath him. _Just ten more minutes_, he prayed.

A brief, blissful second of silence gave him a final moment to relax before the wave of uncoordinated stomps and giggles washed by towards the playroom.

And then, a shatter.

Silence followed, but this time Troy was wide awake. He shot up in his bed and froze, carefully listening to hear his seven-year-old son Caleb say, "Oh shit."

Troy shouted, "Caleb!" He threw the blankets to the side and stumbled into the bathroom, snatched his robe from the back of the bathroom door, and threw it on as he rushed out to investigate the commotion.

His youngest son Liam, an energetic and destructive three-year-old, noticed Troy stomping down the hall and ran up to him, cluelessly cheering, "Daddy!" Troy scooped up Liam and continued down the hall without hesitation. He followed the hallway around a turn and found Caleb by the railing with his guilty blue eyes bulging in fear. Then he noticed the pieces of broken vase scattered across the hardwood floor.

Troy asked him, "What happened?"

Caleb shrugged, and carefully avoided eye contact. "I don't know. It just fell!"

"Don't lie to me, Caleb. I heard you and Liam running in the hallway. What did I tell you about running in the house?"

Caleb averted his teary blue eyes to the ground.

Troy set Liam down to run off into the playroom, then lowered onto a knee in front of Caleb and gently said, "Listen to me, okay? I love you, buddy. But I don't like it when you lie to me. I want to keep you and Liam safe. I can always buy another vase, but I don't want you to get hurt if it fell on you. Can you promise me you won't run in the house or lie again?"

Caleb wiped his nose on the sleeve of his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajamas and quietly said, "I promise."

"Come here." Troy hugged him and said, "And don't say that 'S' word. That's a naughty word. You're lucky mom didn't hear you."

"Me hear what?" Rachel's voice echoed back at them from the bottom level. Troy and Caleb exchanged an identical frightened look and sprung apart. Troy cleared his throat and leaned over the wooden railing. She stood in the foyer with their ten-month daughter Hannah on her hip who gleefully sucked on her pacifier.

Troy tried to casually say, "Nothing."

"Yeah, _right_," Rachel said in an unconvinced tone. "I'm coming up there."

Troy leaned over to whisper into Caleb's ear, "Go to the playroom, buddy." Caleb ran off to join Liam in making toy dinosaurs the drivers in Lego cars.

Troy shut the door and waited by the mess, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. Rachel stepped around the wall to see the broken pieces of what had been a beautiful vase and gasped. She yelled, "Oh my God, my grandmother's vase! How could this happen?"

After a moment of hesitation, Troy answered, "We were rough housing. I bumped into the table and it fell. I'm sorry, Rach."

"So it wasn't Caleb and Liam I heard running around from all the way downstairs in the laundry room?"

"No," Troy said.

"Caleb!" Rachel barked towards the playroom. The door cracked open and a pair of glossy blue eyes stared out into the hallway.

"Come here." Rachel asked him, "Did you and dad break the vase?"

Caleb looked at the ground and nervously wrung his small, sweaty hands. "No," he admitted in a soft, broken voice, "I did it."

Troy asked, "Buddy?"

Caleb looked up to him with tears in his eyes and said, "I promised I wouldn't lie anymore."

Troy felt his heart proudly puff up in his chest. He smiled and said to Caleb, "You're a great kid."

Rachel snapped, "This is not the time to praise him! Caleb, your father and I have both warned you about running in the house. This is unacceptable. You're grounded from your Gameboy today. Give it to me!" Caleb looked up to Troy with a pout. Rachel interfered, "No! Don't look to your dad. _I _told you to give me your Gameboy, now go get it!"

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest and stomped across the top level to his room.

Troy waited until he heard the door shut and snapped at Rachel, "Why are you being so hard on him? He was being honest with you."

"I'm holding him accountable. It's what _parents _do."

Troy knew he shouldn't start anything with her, especially not early enough to sour the rest of the day like it always did. But she hit a sensitive spot, and by the look in her eyes challenging him to respond, she did it deliberately. He may have been a lot of things, but he was a damn good father. Troy said, "What are you implying, I'm not a parent?"

Rachel rolled her eyes and shifted Hannah onto her other hip. "Don't get so defensive. I thought you wanted honesty, and now I'm being honest. I can't help how I feel."

"And you _feel _like I'm not a real parent?"

"You act like their friend, but they don't need any more friends. They need a father, and I need a partner, not another kid who argues with me constantly."

Another _kid_? His mind was a blizzard of words, each of them nastier and meaner than the next. He forced himself to retreat downstairs to the kitchen, afraid if he stayed another moment their conversation could never be pieced back together after such an explosion. He wanted to scream, to curse, to tell her off, but more important than anything he wanted was what he needed.

He needed her to believe what she saw in him was as good as he could get.


	3. Too Desperate

It was Monday, which meant Gabriella was teaching nursery rhymes, reciting the ABC's, and now counting all the way up to big numbers like _fifty_ for her preschool class. As she and the teaching assistant Melissa monitored play time, she certainly _looked_ like Gabriella in a modest floral blouse and ankle-length jeans. And she certainly _sounded_ like Gabriella with her soft, gentle tone reminding the kids that "sharing is caring." But there was something different about Gabriella today, because now she had something that had been missing for far too long.

It was a _plan_ that excited her beyond what she could describe. For the first time in an unnecessarily and borderline unhealthily long time, she would be hanging out with friends.

In the clear September morning when the birds had just started chirping and the city got its first sliver of sunlight on the horizon, she was arriving at work. She had just pulled into her spot in the teacher's lot at the back doors of the school when she received the texts in her group chat.

**Kelsi (Velvet):**_ I can already tell today's going to be terrible. _

**Taylor (Diamond):**_ Why is that?_

**Kelsi (Velvet):**_ The other girl I'm scheduled to work with today hates me, and I can't say I'm very fond of her either. _

**Sharpay:**_ Sounds like you could use some girl time. _

**Kelsi (Velvet):**_ Do you all want to meet at my place after work? We'll make sundaes!_

Gabriella responded immediately: _I'll be there!_

At the end of her shift, Gabriella would be combining her worlds again. The excitement left her with the sort of anticipation reserved for roller coasters, and made her shift drag out worse than before.

When the last of the kids were finally picked up, she and Melissa clocked out and locked up. Gabriella rushed out to her car and took off towards the address Kelsi sent. She rushed around the pebble lawn, underneath the stoop, and knocked on the wooden door. She waited a few moments before it opened and Kelsi came out.

Kelsi exclaimed with a smile, "Hey! You made it!" She embraced Gabriella in a hug. Gabriella stiffened for a moment, not expecting the gesture, but soon enough she reciprocated. Kelsi led her inside and said, "The others are already here. We're making sundaes!"

Stacks of candies overflowing their bowls spread across the counter and cartons with an assortment of ice cream flavors awaited. Gabriella listened to the others talk as she created a sickeningly sweet concoction of candies and ice cream.

Sharpay said, "Alright Kelsi, don't leave anything out. Who is this bitch, and do we have to kick her ass?"

Kelsi explained, "Her name is Heather. When she trained me she was always so condescending, like how she overexplained everything to me with this patronizing tone like she thought I was impaired. I put up with it for half of orientation before finally confronting her on it and holy hell did she make me regret that."

Taylor asked, "What did she do?"

"Reported me to HR."

"Jesus! For someone who likes treating others like they're babies, she's awfully childish."

Gabriella asked, "So I take it they spoke to you about it?"

"Yeah," Kelsi replied, "but only because she lied and made up nastier things about me. She told them I called her bossy and a snobby know-it-all. Basically every PG synonym for 'bitch'. It was just believable enough to get them to buy into it."

Sharpay asked, "But you told them you didn't call her any of that, right?"

"I didn't bother. She's Heather _McCormick_ of McCormick Books and Stationery, the owner's daughter. Even if they believed me, which they'd try not to, it's not like she would be reprimanded."

Gabriella carried her full bowl to the side of the island where Kelsi and Taylor stood across from where Sharpay was sitting on the stool on the other side. "It sucks to say this but you're right. It wouldn't have made a difference."

Taylor shook her head and said, "I hate nepotism. People think they can get away with anything just because of who they know."

Kelsi shook her spoon up in the air angrily to declare, "And they always do."

Sharpay spoke up, "People are disgusting…I love it."

Taylor asked, "What do you mean?"

"The power dynamics. Believing in a social hierarchy and dominancy, if only to play out a fantasy. I mean, why else do you think I became a dominatrix?"

With her tongue obstructed by a hunk of cookie dough, Gabriella mumbled, "Desperation, like the rest of us."

"Me? _Desperate_?" Sharpay scoffed. "Never! If I was desperate, I'd go to college."

In equal parts disbelief, confusion, and offense Taylor asked, "What did you just say? If you were desperate, you'd go to college, so instead you're a sex worker?"

Sharpay looked her straight in the eyes and confirmed, "Yes, that's exactly what I meant. College isn't for everyone. C'mon, do_ I _look like the former scholastic decathlon captain?"

Kelsi agreed, "That's a good point."

Sharpay dramatically dropped her hands on the countertop with a smack and frowned at Kelsi. "Gee, thanks bitch!"

Kelsi stammered, "Wha-? _You_ said it yourself!"

"That doesn't mean you agree with me. Christ, are we sure Heather wasn't right about something?"

Taylor interjected, "That's enough!"

Kelsi tossed her bowl of ice cream onto the counter with a loud clank. She leaned forward with her hands in fists at her side. "You're not about to insult me in my own house, Sharpay."

Sharpay raised her hands to either side of her in surrender. She calmly spoke, "And I would never intend to, Kelsi. I was just trying to make a joke. I didn't mean to make you the punchline, but I am sorry."

Kelsi maintained her stare with Sharpay as a deep shade of red blossomed across her face. Gabriella awkwardly looked to her ice cream bowl and took a bite. Kelsi finally picked up her bowl again, but the room was still under pressure from the tense silence.

Gabriella cleared her throat and resumed the conversation, "You were talking about college, Sharpay."

Sharpay lit up again like nothing had happened and animatedly told her story. "Ah, yes! Well, my dad is obsessed with college. He talks about it all the time and it's no coincidence that everyone he hires was in the same fraternity. He got master's degrees in business, marketing, psychology, and investing. It the only way he could start all his businesses from the ground up. He wanted the same path for my twin Ryan and I. You know, hard work and dedication pays off supposedly. The big difference between my brother and I is that he's smart. Like, _really_ smart. He had a high GPA throughout all of high school and scored a thirty-five on the ACT without any help. But yours truly couldn't get any higher than an eighteen, and my dad was freaking out. There was no way I could get accepted into his Ivy league alma mater…which was precisely according to my plan. I didn't want to go college. Everything I'd ever need to know about fashion can be learned through apprenticeships. A bachelor's degree in anything fine arts is useless unless you know the right people. I already have all the connections from when I modeled in high school, but my dad didn't listen. He told me to get a business degree to fall back on. Way believe in me, _right_? My low scores was the only thing keeping me out. He wanted to pay someone on the admissions board to sneak me in."

Gabriella and the others glanced around at one another uncertainly, unsure if they really wanted to know what happened next.

Sharpay began to speak again so quietly, the others instinctively leaned in to hear. She said, "It caused so much fighting between my parents. My mom hated the idea, and thought it was way too dangerous if we got caught. She wanted to let me go my own way, but still, my dad persisted. So finally I had to just say it. I told him I didn't want to go to college. He said it didn't matter, I still needed to go. I told him he couldn't force me, and so he threatened to cut me off and kick me out of the house. And we all know how that story ends. Sex work bought me my independence, and I'm flourishing because of it. If I was truly desperate, I'd crawl back to my father and spend my next four years on something I don't want just to appease him."

Taylor stepped out of the huddle of secrecy and straightened up. She said, "Wait a second. If you have all the connections, why aren't you in fashion now?"

"I get into fashion shows to see the current trends, but not becoming an apprentice was my choice. I don't want to work under anyone, I want to open my own boutique and start a magazine. This is just phase zero, saving up for it all."

Gabriella glanced over her shoulder to Taylor, who, judging by the way she chased the melted ice cream in her bowl, was satisfied by Sharpay's answer.

"Now that I have given you some insight into my choice, why did all of you choose the dungeon?"

Kelsi said, "I have so many student loans to pay off, and hopefully I can earn enough to go _back_ to school."

Taylor asked, "What would you do if you went back?"

Kelsi opened her mouth to responded, but just as quickly shut it again and shyly smiled to herself. "It's an old dream of mine and," she began to shake her head, "I still don't know if it can happen. I love books, but there's something I've always wanted to try but was too scared. I want to _write_ my own literature. So when I go back, I'll go for creative writing."

Taylor reassured her, "Of course you can do it."

Unprompted and likely to be unappreciated, Sharpay gave her harsh advice. "Kelsi, you do what you want, but you should know that you don't technically need a degree in anything to become a published author. All you need is an agent who likes your work. You could be a middle school dropout and still get a book deal as long as the publishing house thinks your stuff will sell. It doesn't matter to them if it took you a degree to do it as long as the finished product is sellable. And in case you don't get picked up, you don't want to accidentally spend another hundred thousand dollars on something that never becomes more than a hobby."

Kelsi dropped her head and murmured, "It's just a fantasy, really. I know I couldn't get published."

While glaring at Sharpay, Taylor consoled Kelsi by wrapping her arm around her shoulders. She said to Sharpay, "Weren't you just complaining about your dad not believing in you?"

"I believe in Kelsi, but the world is stupid and doesn't know what's good for it. She could very well be the next Shakespeare, but if the market isn't ready or has already passed, her work isn't going anywhere. It's such a gamble finding the right agent and writing the _right_ thing at the _right_ time. If you want to place a four-year and thousands of dollars bet, go ahead. Personally, I think you could find just about everything you'd ever need to know about anything you can think of online. The only reason to get the paper degree is for the STEM fields that require it."

Taylor released Kelsi and said, "You are completely underestimating the weight of a degree. Having a degree in anything is better than not having one at all."

"True, but that's not because art history majors are any more qualified than a high school graduate at being the manager at Starbucks. It's because the market is so saturated with useless 'at least I have a degree' degrees that now every decent entry level position is filled with someone with a bachelors. While the schools can boast about general employment rates, the only ones working in their desired field are STEM graduates. Who do you see actually working in the art history field? Incredibly lucky people with master's degrees, or more often, _doctorates_."

"At least the manager at Starbucks can put leadership on their resume, which will be helpful later when applying in their field. Not having a bachelor's degree at all is guaranteed poverty."

"I don't disagree with that. You're totally right. Everyone should have a bachelor's degree if you want any chance at decent employment. My argument is that it's still bullshit that a degree helps someone get hired in a completely unrelated field than what it says on their diploma. If someone is investing four years and thousands of dollars into their passion, I think they should be guaranteed a spot in it. But that's not the way it is anymore. Bachelor's degrees are so common they're overflowing into any random entry-level position. Master's and doctorates are the new bachelors."

"I guess we actually don't disagree there."

Gabriella spoke up, "I never would have imagined the dominatrix across the dressing room in bedazzled, hot-pink lingerie was so well-informed about the current state of post baccalaureate employment. I think I gravely underestimated you, Sharpay."

"Most do." She roughly dropped her phone onto their end of the counter and ordered, "Now someone shoot me." She posed with a cherry dangling into her puckered lips and seductive half-closed eyes while Taylor operated the camera from across the island. The electronic shutter sounded and Sharpay asked, "How does it look?"

"Sweet!" Taylor turned the phone to show Sharpay.

Sharpay hopped off her barstool and walked around to their side. "I swear to God if that's a pun…" Sharpay's threat tapered off once she had her bedazzled phone back. She looked through the photos before asking the others, "Should I waterfall the chocolate syrup into my mouth?"

Taylor answered, "Are you sure you don't want to just deepthroat the ice cream scoop?"

Sharpay glared and put on a sarcastic smirk before looking back to her phone. Gabriella asked her, "What are those photos for?"

"I like to keep a portfolio just in case."

"In case of what?"

"You prudes wouldn't understand."

Taylor's hearty laugh rang out across the living room as Kelsi snorted so loudly that Gabriella began to giggle as well. Taylor challenged her, "Lay it on me, sis. You couldn't surprise me anymore than you already have tonight."

She pointed a single manicured finger around to each of them and warned, "Don't make me regret trusting you all with this. I have a _special_ client, a former regular from the dungeon. He's the only person I see in the real world. We have an arrangement, if you will."

Sharpay paused, milking the other's curiosity and savoring their interest until Gabriella was forced to asked, "What kind of arrangement?"

"Well, I send him photos and meet with him every other weekend for _physical_ things."

Taylor cautiously asked, "What kind of physical things?"

Sharpay playfully looked up and placed her index finger on her chin in thought. Then, she looked dead ahead at Gabriella, smirked, and wiggled her eyebrows.

Gabriella's jaw dropped open and she asked incredulously, "You mean you have _sex_ with him?"

Kelsi begged, "Sharpay, please tell me you're joking!"

"What did I say?" Sharpay laughed to herself, "For dominatrices, you all are such prudes!"

Taylor argued, "I don't think it's a prudish thing. We're just concerned. Surely you know how dangerous that is?"

"How dangerous it _could_ be, with the _wrong_ guy, yes. I've heard Madame's propaganda stories whispered throughout the dressing room so much I could recite them myself. You shouldn't believe everything you hear down there. It's just her ploy to scare you from seeking work outside her business. If she feels so entitled to a cut of the profits, she should be down there with us."

Kelsi laughed to herself and said, "No one wants to see that!"

Sharpay argued, "You'd be surprised how many kinks are out there. For all the thousands of men who have entered the dungeon, there are hundreds of pervs into grannies."

Gabriella gagged and said, "I do not need that image."

Sharpay zeroed in on her and asked, "What's it going to be for you, Gabriella? Unresolved daddy issues?"

Gabriella felt the blankness across her own face as she scurried to piece together what on earth Sharpay could mean. "Excuse me?"

"What got you into sex work?"

"Desperation."

Sharpay encouraged, "Go on."

"Well, it's really not so interesting. I got a degree from Stanford. Although my scholarships helped, it wasn't enough. I'm trying to pay off my student loans and send myself through school again for a master's. I'm hoping to become a college professor once I graduate."

"Hold on a second, let me get this straight. Your plan is to guide others down the same path that made you so desperate you now find yourself whipping middle aged men in the basement of a sex dungeon? How diabolical…I love it!"

"Well when you put it that way, it sounds even better!" Gabriella joined in with their laughs and stayed to listen more about their aspirations, but the conversation would haunt her long after the group parted.

Tuesday afternoon, as she was on her hands and knees wiping up a cart of overturned juice boxes in the daycare kitchen, she was faced with the unavoidable reality that was the underemployed. She had a BS in psychology, so what the hell was she doing working for two dollars more than minimum wage in a completely unrelated field? She fit in perfectly with what Sharpay had argued, and she wondered just how many other people like her fell for the expired promise of higher education. The temptation to withdraw only grew when she checked the calendar and saw it was still early enough in the semester to receive a partial refund.

She decided she could never do what Sharpay did, even if it paid better. If she needed to go on to get a doctorate, she would. She was valedictorian after all. This stint in the dungeon was a necessary evil to get back where she truly belonged.

For better or for worse, what happened that Saturday night set off a domino effect of encounters and changes wilder than she ever could have imagined.

* * *

When Gabriella entered the communal dressing room before the start of her shift, it was already packed. She passed by a slutty nurse and scantily clad maid before finding a dominatrix in only a lacey turquoise bralette and thong at her usual counter space. She spun around to search for another spot but saw that they all were taken. She headed towards the bathroom to get ready when someone called after her, "Gabri - I mean - _April!_ Come here, we'll share." It was Sharpay in a lacy pastel pink robe with fluffy fabric around her cuffs and lining the bottom. Sharpay moved her Chanel bag to the floor and scooted up against the dominatrix to her left to make room. Gabriella removed her comb from the gym bag and began to tease her hair when Sharpay asked, "What, or rather, _who_ is on your agenda tonight?"

The man beneath her boot stiletto was a new referral, which probably meant a longer debriefing time before they started and some awkward trial and error to get in the swing of things. Some clients had bizarre requests that the other women didn't want to perform, so Gabriella frequently picked up the leftovers. Luckily this meant Madame could negotiate for a higher wage for her customized services, but also that she met some especially strange people. Gabriella said, "The basic. Gagging, whipping, and being tied down."

Sharpay said, "Yawn."

"But get this…he wants me to point and laugh at him the entire time while yelling, 'I'm going to tell the teacher on you!'"

Sharpay laughed, "What the fuck? That's hilarious."

The dominatrix nicknamed _Gold_ on Gabriella's right crossed her arms over her bare chest and loudly cleared her throat.

Gabriella looked her up and down before asking, "Can I help you?"

Gold said, "You shouldn't be sharing those intimate details about a client's request. It's against Madame's rules."

Sharpay butted in, "Excuse me, was anyone talking to you?"

"I-"

Sharpay interrupted, "_Exactly_. So shut the fuck up." Gold shook her head in disapproval and leaned closer to her mirror to finish lining her eyes with a shimmering gold liner.

The others who had looked over at the commotion went back to their business applying heavy makeup and dressing in skimpy outfits. Gabriella said nothing to the girl called _Gold_, but the guilt weighing down on her told her Gold was right. Usually clients with those specific and embarrassing requests had had a bad experience and needed a way to release their fear, much like the man who was robbed and pistol-whipped at gunpoint.

Sharpay said, "Anyway, my guy tonight has a foot fetish." The conversations on the far side of the dressing room came to a premature end when the door opened. Gabriella looked over and spotted Madame over the others' heads. She had a muscular build with voluptuous curves and cleavage that spilled over her unbreathable corset. Her long black hair ended in frizzly strands at her hips, and she had manicured nails cut to a sharp point with crimson polish. Word around the dungeon was that she once tore a man's eye out with those nails when he inappropriately groped one of the workers. Truth or not, her reputation as a living legend and the ultimate badass dominatrix kept all the employees and clients from crossing her.

Towering over the others, she passed through the room and came to a stop in front of Gabriella. "April," Madame said in her deep yet still feminine voice, "Come to my office before you see anyone tonight."

"Yes Madame," Gabriella responded in a quivering voice from her pounding heart. Without any way to tell what Madame was thinking through her stoic expression, Gabriella defaulted to the worst-case scenario.

Fingertips gazed the small of Gabriella's back and she turned around to see Taylor reaching out across the aisle to her. "What did you do?" Taylor asked. Countless smoky eyes looked her way. If the others picked up that Madame was mad, maybe she was right to be concerned.

Her hands broke out in a sweat and she knew she couldn't deal with all the anxiety. She needed to get it over with before the anticipation ate away at her any more than it already was. She put her makeup back in her bag and exited the dressing room still in her sweatpants and sweater. She ascended the winding marble staircase to Madame's office on the fourth floor of the castle. Madame stood between her desk and the massive window overlooking the front lawn below with her back to Gabriella. "Take a seat, Gabriella."

Gabriella's breath caught in her throat at the sound of Madame's voice saying her name – her _real_ name – for the first time ever. The leather armchair groaned as she sat. She placed her hands in her lap and tightly locked them together until her knuckles turned white.

Madame slowly turned around and pulled out her chair, her face still locked in a blank expression. "A client came to me with a special request."

In a voice that landed a few pitches higher than normal, Gabriella said, "I'll take it."

Madame shook her head. She took her seat in the villainous chair and folded her hands over the midnight black desk. "I'm afraid that's not the reason why I called you in. He asked another worker if he could bring his gun into the dungeon. When she declined, he argued that _you_ let him do so last weekend." The mask over her eyes shattered to show a glint of sorrow. "I have no other choice but to let you go. Please leave your badge at your counter. I'm sorry."

Gabriella felt a strong pull behind her eyes. The image of Madame sitting in front of the window blurred as her eyes filled with tears. "Madame, please. I'm so sorry. You don't have to do this. You don't understand how badly I need this job."

"I understand."

"You do?" A tear rolled down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away.

"Women don't choose to become a sex worker unless they're out of options. Many people take advantage of that, but I tried to treat you well. And I have treated you well, haven't I?"

"Of course, Madame."

"All I asked in return is for my rules to be respected."

"Please, I'll do anything. You can take a higher percentage of my earnings. Just please don't fire me."

"There's nothing we can do to change this. You put everyone in this building at risk. I cannot employ someone so neglectful."

All Gabriella wanted to do was drop to her knees and beg, but she forced herself up to a stand. With as much dignity as she could muster, she sniffled, "Thank you, Madame."

"You were a great dominatrix. I always saw great potential in you." Madame stood and reached out her hand over the table.

Gabriella respectfully shook her hand farewell and descended the staircase down to the dressing room. It was half deserted now with only a handful of women still getting ready, among them being Sharpay, Kelsi, and Taylor. Gabriella went to her usual spot and picked at the sticker with the name _April_ off the mirror.

Kelsi cautiously approached and asked in a whisper, "Are you okay?"

Gabriella shook her head. "I'm done," she answered as she tossed her badge onto the counter on the way out.

* * *

**AN: As a few of you may know, I want to begin recording my chapters to make them available in audio format. Unfortunately, I got a cold and my voice is really rough at the moment. Once my throat heals up I will start recording them. If this sounds like something you might enjoy or want to check out, watch my profile page because that will be where I put the links. I will also announce when they're ready via Twitter (username: SophiaAnneMoore)**

**The next chapter will be uploaded on Thursday, November 14th. **

**Please let me know your thoughts. I love reading your reviews! **


	4. Too Outnumbered

It was already forty-five minutes past five, and usually Troy would be wrapping up his ordinary Friday with some last-minute negotiations on the app before heading home to his kids. Except this Friday had already proved to be anything but ordinary. For starters, it was the first week in nearly half a year that he couldn't manage to find in a single eligible woman for Saturday night. Secondly, he needed to pick up his hellish sister-in-law from the airport in the middle of the night. This meant that not only would he be stuck at home all weekend, but he would need to share his house with a final contender for the top spot on his All Time Least Favorite People list.

Of course, the night that Troy didn't want to leave would turn out to be completely uneventful. He hunted down the night shift surgeons to discuss future procedures, visited his patients in the oncology unit, and even restocked the surplus of glove boxes in each exam room in the clinic; The whole time wishing something exciting would happen.

Troy regretted many things, but his proudest decision was to become a doctor. He lived for the adrenaline-inducing anticipation and mystery of what on its way through the doors. The next millisecond of silence could give way to a symphony of screeching monitors, panicked shouting, and a colorful blur of scrubs stampeding down the hallway. While every other faucet of his life was overrun by indecision and uncertainty, his medical training showed the one clear solution – act fast. There's no time to guess, no time to hesitate. He needed to rely on himself, the one chance to be brave and finally run towards the chaos.

The uneventful evening in the hospital was still horribly boring by the time Troy left shortly after eight. He easily maneuvered about the clear lanes on the highway until finding his exit into the suburbs. As he passed the large stone engraved with their neighborhood name, _Spring Oaks_, he felt it nibble at the small of his back. It was a sense, an instinct similar to the patients who somehow knew the bad news before he said it. There was a way Rachel radiated her anger like static energy that made the hair on the back of his neck and arms stand on end. With each speed bump he slowly crawled over towards their home, his grip on the steering wheel tightened until the familiar ache behind his eyes struck again.

His headlights panned around the front of the house as he turned into the driveway, momentarily shining a spotlight on the figure waiting at his front door. He murmured to himself between his stiff, motionless lips, "Just give me a break." He parked the car and took his time gathering his things, savoring the last few moments of peace and solitude before a weekend suffocating on the animosity. He relaxed his body language the best as he could and managed to put on a small smile. He popped the door open and called out to the figure at the front door, "Good evening, honey."

Rachel crossed her arms over her large frame and titled her pointed nose up in the air at him. "Where have you been?" He listened carefully to her tone, repeating the question over in his head the way he remembered her saying it. She was curt but not angered or raised. Curious, but not particularly suspicious.

The door slammed shut behind him and the car honked to signify its lock in the otherwise silent night. He casually answered, "Consoling a dying woman."

"Your phone was off." She was surprisingly calm for someone who purposely waited outside for him to come home and confront him away from the kids. The way her eyes tracked him as he approached weren't hateful, but simply observant. Something didn't add up.

Troy maintained his confidence as he said, "Yes…because I was consoling a dying woman."

"I couldn't get ahold of you." It was square one for the third time, but now he uncovered her game. This was one of her signature traps. She was purposely being vague to add ammunition to her argument, because now she had permission to be mad for not only the main cause, but for him not knowing why. Any other night Troy would race through every possibility of what could have gone wrong in the last twelve hours since they parted on neutral terms, but not tonight. Now or later, this weekend was going to defeat him. He then decided to surrender early, going limp before the impact to reduce his injuries.

Troy set his brief case on the pavement and put his hands in his pockets. "I know you heard me the first two times. If you have a problem, will you please just come out and say it?"

Her indifferent mask cracked, and she narrowed her hateful eyes at him. "You could have taken thirty seconds to text me," she snapped. "I needed to know you couldn't make it."

Troy impatiently asked, "Make what?"

Shaking her head in disapproval, she scoffed, "Don't play dumb."

He breathed deeply through his nose, using the second of silence to regroup. In as calm of a voice as he could muster, he responded, "Rachel, I really don't know what you're talking about."

Her arms clapped down to her sides, straight and stiff with fists pointing down to the ground. She yelled, "Do you expect me to believe that you just conveniently _forgot_ to pick up my sister from the airport?"

Troy met her shout with his own, "You said that was tonight!"

She aggressively stepped up to him until her face was staring directly up at his. She explained in a low voice, "She caught an earlier flight, which you would know if you actually read any of the texts I send you."

He turned as if he was looking over his shoulder, but only rolled his eyes in a way she couldn't see. "Look, Rach, I don't get what the big deal is. As I've told Karen before, she can always call Uber."

"The big deal is I had to leave work early because of you!"

"_I'm_ not the one who asked you to do that! Now will you please go back inside?"

Rachel stared at him challengingly, and Troy easily guessed she would now take twice as long simply because it was what he asked her to do. She finally asked, "What's your problem?"

"What's _my_ problem? I'm not even in the house yet and you're already running out here to tell me what I did wrong. It's not the most positive feeling to come home to."

Troy felt her energy drench him in a wave of ice-cold hostility. She marched back towards the house and called out over her shoulder at the stoop, "I have more than your feelings to worry about."

He tossed his head up towards the dark sky and rubbed the back of his sweaty neck with his cold, shaking hands. He was furious, but not an inch of it was towards her. It had been years since she respected him, and he could only blame himself for forgetting that.

* * *

He lingered outside a while following their altercation. The tension never entirely went away, but a couple moments of separation following an argument typically released at least some of the pressure.

Chatter filled in from the living room down the hallway, and Troy silently locked the door behind him. He carefully set his briefcase on the floor tile and folded his suit jacket over it. He hopped into the hallway, cupped his palms around his mouth, and yelled out towards the den, "Where are my boys?"

Loud, clumsy stomps were cut off by Rachel's booming voice ringing out from the kitchen. "No running in the house!"

Caleb stuck his head out into the hallway before Liam's peeked out beneath his. They both cheered, "Daddy!" Then, they raced each other into his outreached arms.

He wrapped a son in each arm and lifted them into the air, their dangling legs swaying as he twisted side to side. "I love you guys so much!" He placed them back on the ground, kissed Liam's chubby cheek, and ruffled Caleb's wavy chestnut hair. "How was school?"

Caleb excitedly rattled off quicker than his stuttering tongue could keep up, "Mrs. Lee let me feed the hamster, and we played kickball at recess with the fifth graders and guess what!"

"What happened, bud?" Troy sauntered towards the den with the boys keeping up alongside him.

Caleb exclaimed, "We won!"

"That's awesome! I'm so proud of you."

Caleb's feet excitedly hopped and danced underneath him as he said, "Paul threw it to me and I hit the fifth grader in his arm and he was like, 'Ah!'" He dramatically reenacted the boy's screams and clutched his arm in pain.

Troy laughed and said, "I bet you threw it just like we practiced, huh?"

"I did! I really did!"

"That's awesome, bud!" Troy patted Caleb on the back to guide him inside, but Troy stayed lingering in the doorway. He watched Caleb crawl over the back of the couch and plop down crisscross in front of the TV. Liam followed Caleb's every move like a perfect shadow, but since the last time Liam slipped off the back of the couch and fell on the floor with a massive thud and a big booboo, he learned to go _around _the couch. He joined Caleb on the rug and watched TV next to the big brother he had admired and idolized since they day he was born. Troy turned towards the dark corner in the back of the room where the rocking chair creaked on a slow rhythm. "Hi Karen."

The creaking suddenly stopped and only the muffled sound of the TV remained. There was a click and the lamp illuminated the edge of the toy shelf where it rested, and her lap draped with a quilt while his daughter Hannah squirmed in her arms. She whined with a forced friendliness, "Troy, how nice to see you again."

Troy knew she thought he was a complete idiot, one who couldn't detect sarcasm, but it worked better for the both of them that he played along. "It's great to see you, too."

She scooted up to the edge of the rocking chair and tossed the quilt on the floor as she stood and stepped into the light. The fluorescent bulbs from the ceiling fan were unkind to her features, highlighting the botched nose job, fake chin implant, and lip injections so disproportionally large they looked like two sausages on her face. Her face was so messed up, the best plastic surgeon he knew couldn't begin to make it right again. As spiteful and petty as he knew it was, Troy was always pleased to remember that fact.

Their mutual despise wasn't new. He hated Karen Peterson since the very first time he hung out with Rachel at their house in middle school. Karen ignored Rachel like she was a complete stranger who happened to share the same home as her. Except for when she did acknowledge her; then, it was to somehow insult or berate her. Yet somehow, she was the obvious favorite. Their parents mainly talked to Karen over dinner and spoiled her with new phones and cars while Rachel got the discarded leftovers. Troy's dislike only increased after that.

It was only in the past five or so years when Karen's marriage was so quickly deteriorating that she reached out to make amends with Rachel. He suspected it was because Karen's friends were growing tired of her constant issues and she needed someone new to complain to. Troy didn't know what really happened to bring them onto speaking terms again, but he imagined Karen capitalized off her position as the older sibling and the promise of having a real relationship again to lure her back in. She probably never apologized. Their family wasn't that kind.

When it came to the Peterson women—Rachel, Karen, and their mom Patricia—Troy's wishes to be treated with respect were either disregarded or somehow twisted into making him the villain. They could never admit wrongness, and the way they could twist any situation to make him take the blame was unparalleled. Like the time Troy asked Karen to cover the repair cost for the laptop she borrowed and broke meant he was 'greedy' and 'entitled.' As terrible as it was, Troy was impressed with how far out and delusional she became just to excuse her terrible behavior. Unfortunately for Troy, Rachel has started to implement some of her best tactics.

Karen stared off at the TV, past Troy like he wasn't even there. Troy stepped towards her and offered his hands out towards Hannah. He said, "I can take her off your hands."

Karen shook her head, the dead tips of her dry and damaged brunette locks tickling Hannah's little face. "We're bonding."

Troy explained, "I haven't seen her all day. Do you mind?"

Karen finally acknowledged him with her eye contact and shrugged. "I didn't think you held her."

Troy deeply inhaled through his nose. _Don't fall for it_, he thought to himself. "She _is_ my daughter, Karen."

She wore a shocked expression as if he just calculated the Earth's surface area off the top of his head - equal parts impressed and stunned that he had the capacity. It insulted him that she found it so unbelievable for him to forge such a connection. He immediately thought of Rachel, and wondered what exactly she told her that would make her assume he had no emotional connection to his own daughter. He became so entranced in his thoughts and questions that he missed what she said as she passed Hannah off, but assumed that was for the best he didn't catch it.

Troy took a seat on the couch behind Caleb and Liam with Hannah on his lap. Her little head covered in thin wisps of light brown hair turned side to side, following the characters on the screen. He kept his hands around her small belly to balance her as she perched up on his knees. The boys laughed at one of the cartoon's fart jokes and Hannah merrily babbled along with her thoughts.

Rachel's voice rang out from the kitchen, "Caleb! Set the table!"

"Hang on!"

Rachel angrily yelled back, "What did you say?"

Caleb called back, "_Mom_, the commercials-!"

Karen barked, "Caleb Andrew Bolton! Don't you dare disobey your mother!"

Caleb stood and unenthusiastically dragged his feet out of the den.

"Troy," Karen began, and Troy could already anticipate whatever she had to say wouldn't be nice. "I sure hope it isn't you teaching my nephews to disrespect my sister."

Troy's jaw locked and he slowly looked back over his shoulder at Karen in the rocking chair. He said, "I respect women, Karen. And my boys respect women. It wasn't disrespect; it was putting off a chore like everyone else his age."

"Then it's laziness you're teaching them!"

"Karen, I know you don't have a high opinion of me, but surely you can refrain from attacking my character while you're a guest in _my_ house."

"It's not _your_ house, Troy. Rachel works just as hard as-!"

A loud shatter cut the remainder of their argument short.

Rachel screamed, "Oh my God!"

Troy stood up, handed Hannah off to Karen, and rushed through the hall and into the kitchen.

Caleb nervously shuffled in place next to the irreparable shards of glass splattered across the wooden floor like an abstract painting. His quiet voice rattled with fear as he said, "I'm sorry."

Troy stepped around the mess and pulled him away towards the clean tile. He bent over to rub his back and said, "It's ok."

Rachel, grabbing a hand towel off the oven handle, knelt down to the mess and said, "No, it's really not. What has gotten into you, Caleb? First the vase and now-"

Karen's dramatic gasp notified the others to her presence in the hall. She interrupted with a screeching voice, "Grandma's vase from England?"

Troy watched helplessly as the shame ate away at his son. Caleb bit his bottom lip between his teeth and blinked back tears as well as he could. With the first ones streaming down his red cheeks he choked out, "I'm sorry!"

Troy lowered onto his knees and pulled him into a tight hug. "Don't cry, buddy. It's okay." He pulled away to wipe his tears with his thumbs and cupped his face in his big hands. "It's okay, I promise."

He sniffed up the snot dripping down his upper lip. His voice was so soft and quiet when he said, "I didn't mean to."

Troy gently responded, "I know, Caleb. You're a good kid. Just take a deep breath. It'll be alright."

Karen shouted, "_Nothing_ is alright about this, Troy. I know _you_ were raised to avoid problems, but that is not-"

Her screams were silenced by the whistling fury between his ears. There was no soothing thought, no breathing technique left to restrain himself. "Karen!" Troy snapped, "This does not involve you!"

Rachel interfered, "Of course it does!"

Troy raised to his feet and rushed across the main level to the front door while shouting, "I can't do this. I can't handle the _both_ of you!"

Rachel caught up with him in the foyer and asked, "Where do you think you're going?"

Troy barked over his shoulder, "Gym." He slammed the door shut behind him and rushed to his car. This was not good. It was the most he'd let her get to him in a long time. The car revved awake, and he sped off towards downtown Reno. With the streetlights and buildings lighting his every move, he parked in front of a bar and unlocked the compartment.

His fingers moved swiftly to sign in and find the right folder. He filtered his app by location and messaged the very closest user: _Busy night?_

He went back to thoroughly read her profile to prepare for once she responded. The pictures showed a model posing in a bikini with light purple hair and very fittingly, her name was Lavender. The next photo showed her with her head down so low he couldn't see her face, not that her face was meant to be the focus of the photograph. She held open her oversized winter coat to show off the sweater dress so tight the outlines of her nipples poked through. The dress ended about a foot above from her knees that were covered in fishnet stockings.

A banner dropped from the top of his screen to show one new message:_ Nope. You asking for a reason?_

_514 27th Street. I'm in a light blue shirt and khakis. Find me at the bar. _

_$300 per hour, upfront._

It was dirt cheap, but he was too desperate to be concerned tonight.

_No problem._

_Wire it._

_After I see you. _

_I'm not going until you pay me._

_Have a good night then, _Troy responded before promptly blocking the account. He may have made a few mistakes in the beginning of his time on the app, but he never fell for that trick. Conspiring with another person to do anything illegal requires an expectation of trust.

He went back to the main page and scrolled through faster than his eyes could keep up until reaching the very end of his matches. He longingly peered out his passenger side window to the bar. He unlatched the seatbelt and slowly fed the excess belt over his shoulder.

He knew he shouldn't, but that hadn't stopped him before.

He twisted the wedding ring off his finger and tossed it into the coin tray with a gentle clank. _Just this one time_, he told himself. _Nobody will know._ He gripped the door handle and had it halfway open when the indecision froze him in place. He whispered, "I can't do this." The handle suddenly popped the door open and startled him, but he snuggly shut it again. He flipped the lid open on his coin tray and grabbed the gold ring, studying its glistens intensely. It slid down to the base when his eyes directed his attention to the device lying in his passenger seat.

"What's the point?" He asked aloud to himself. He unlocked the device and went on the app again. The ribbon running across the top of the results showed his search settings:

**_Male_**_ searching for **females** ages **25 – 30** in a **20-mile radius** from **current location**._

He glanced back at the bar where the singles and friends were happiest, then back to the app.

"Fuck it."

He altered the search settings:

**_Male_**_ searching for **females** ages **21 – 35** in a **500-mile radius** from **current location**. _

The loading screen animation of a heart spinning occupied the results section.

Finally after a few minutes of waiting, a result ran across the first set of profiles:

_Showing results 1 – 20 of 1,491._

It was the city of sin in the land of secrecy. But to Troy, Las Vegas was becoming so much more. It was the city of potential, opportunity, and _numerous_ possibilities.

Exactly 1,491 of them.

* * *

A sliver of light seeped out from beneath the door and spilled out onto the carpet at his feet. The soft, muffled buzz of her electric toothbrush was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Troy silently tiptoed past the bed to their closet and began to undress when the door latched shut and the lights flicked on. He quietly said, "Sorry about that. I just needed some space."

Rachel sighed and ran her fingers through her wet hair from root to tip. "Trust me, I could tell." She suddenly stepped towards him in route to her vanity, so Troy shuffled around her to his side of the bed closest to the door. She disappeared into the closet and returned with a brush. Folding her legs underneath her, she perched herself at the end of the bed angled towards him. "I can't be surprised by it anymore. Every time things get tough, you just run off like that."

The slow motion of the brush running through her hair looked straining, and her eyelids were heavy. She was fatigued, and that was safe.

Troy gently said, "I don't want to run anymore. Let's address it. Do you and Karen talk?"

She sprang awake with a laugh, "What kind of a question is that? Of course! She's my _sister_."

He nervously scratched behind his ear, fearing this one mistake had just awoken a sleeping bear. "Do you talk about me?"

She snapped with a defensive tone, "Yeah, _so_?"

"What kind of stuff do you say?"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and asked, "Where are you going with this?"

It was time to push back. Sometimes the best way to de-escalate was to assert himself. She couldn't keep at this game all night. "Can you please just answer the question?"

She rolled her eyes. "Anything. We all need someone to vent to. What's wrong with that?"

"There's nothing wrong with that, but maybe you shouldn't talk about everything. Some things could be resolved better if they stayed between the two of us."

Her locked jaw hardened beneath her red skin as she angrily rattled off, "You do _not_ get to decide what I talk about with my sister. That is so disgusting and controlling. I'm an equal, Troy. I have a voice and it is my right to talk about my problems with whoever I want. I'm not your little slave wife who has to mindlessly accept your behavior and everything you do. Isolation is abuse."

Troy raised his voice to meet hers. "Rachel, I'm not trying to isolate you. I just think that when you constantly tell her only about our issues, she gets the wrong idea about our relationship."

"I don't _only_ tell her about the bad things. But it shouldn't matter! It's really none of your business."

"It _is_ my business when it keeps causing conflicts between her and I."

"That's between you and her. It's not my problem." She rushed off the bed and stomped back towards her vanity, loudly smacking the brush back into its drawer.

"This might not be the best time, but there's something else we need to talk about."

She sighed. "What?"

"I heard about a clinic in Las Vegas with an accelerated program."

Rachel pressed, "And?"

He shrugged. "I think it'd be a good option for us. I could pick up shifts during the week at the hospital here, then go out to Las Vegas on the weekends."

"Are you crazy? You can't just check out of parenting for two days out of the week. We have a baby, a toddler, and a trouble child. I am not going to be able to handle that all on my own."

Troy argued, "We'll get a nanny so you can have more time for yourself."

"But you're not going to drive all the way out to Las Vegas and back in a weekend."

"I could afford flights with all the extra money I'd make."

"What'd be the point if you to spend as much as you make?"

"I'd have to work out the expenses, but I'd finish my fellowship six months early. I could make more even money on top of that quicker."

"I don't know, Troy. I'll have to think about it."

He pushed his legs down beneath the sheets and closed his eyes, ending it there before it could swing back the other way. She wouldn't say it until morning at least because she loved to make him worry, but he had done it. He convinced her.

There were hospitals and clinics in Las Vegas, of course, and an accelerated program that paid enough to compensate for the travel costs was a great idea…_in theory_. Unfortunately, none of those hospitals had such a program. In fact, there was not a single 'accelerated fellowship program' across the whole American medical education system. Troy needed a valid reason to fly out to Las Vegas every weekend, and the fictitious program with its unbelievable advantages was the best he could come up with.

Somehow, it was actually working. Troy had finally won something against Rachel…for now.

* * *

**AN: ****I really hoped to have the audio files uploaded on YouTube by now, but life happens. Keep checking in on my Twitter for the announcement once they're done. Username: SophiaAnneMoore**

**Best recovery wishes to my badass beta, DocWordsmith. **

**As always, please let me know what you thought! I love reading your comments. **


	5. Too Unforgivable

Gabriella sat on the edge of her torn couch cushion and peered over the messy coffee table. Her eyes scanned the phone bill, utility bill, internet bill, unsigned rent check, and countless receipts. A small notebook with various amounts scribbled and totaled at the bottom laid on the floor between her feet. She had enough money to cover the upcoming month with groceries, but that would be it. If she wanted to stay in Vegas, she'd need a cheaper place lined up, and someone to take over her lease.

She let out a heavy sigh and ran her fingers through her oily hair. She didn't have many solutions, but a hot bath would be a good place to start.

She grabbed her phone, a candle from the wobbly dinner table, and the box of matches tucked behind the breadbox. The water loudly spat out into the tub as she put her tangled hair in a bun on the top of her head. Flickering candlelight dimly lit the room and a warm cinnamon-vanilla sweetness wafted over. She carefully lowered into the tub and guided the warm water over her legs in gentle waves, watching the splashes reach up the porcelain sides.

_I always saw great potential in you,_ she heard Madame's low, regretful voice echo in her head. She wondered where it went, or if ever was. If she had bullshit everyone into believing she was something special, but in reality, she was sadly unsatisfactory and underwhelming.

_Be honest,_ she thought. _You're a fraud_.

Was she really the independent adult she pretended to be while living paycheck to paycheck and relying on little gifts from her mom? She wasn't convinced of it anymore. Maybe this whole move to Las Vegas was an impulsive and desperate attempt to find a version of herself she clearly wasn't, and may never be.

She bent her knees to make space and leaned back into the water, letting it wash over her from the outside of her ears to the tip of her nose. She held her breath and crossed her arms over her bare chest, hugging herself tightly. Then, there were three dull thuds. She sat up to listen when the rapid knocks continued from across the apartment. With a hand towel loosely tossed on her soaked hair and bath towel wrapped over her body, she cautiously stepped across the wet linoleum tile.

She was halfway across the hall connecting her bedroom and bathroom to the front of the apartment when the handle jiggled. She paused in place, her toes soaking the carpet and her breath caught in her throat. The handle rattled again. "Stop it!" She screamed. "I'm armed!"

"We're not afraid of your riding crop, April!"

Gabriella hesitantly stepped towards the door again and asked, "Sharpay?"

The handle twisted and the door burst open on its own. Sharpay stepped forward, yanked a mangled bobby pin from the door handle, and pinned the disformed metal back in her elegant updo. Gabriella stared at the three standing in front of her in both amazement and confusion. She asked, "What are you all doing here?"

Kelsi answered for the group, "We wanted to check on you. You haven't responded to a single message in the group chat since last week. What's going on?"

Gabriella mumbled, "Surely there was a better way to do that than breaking and entering."

Sharpay shrugged. "You walk slow." She tossed the end of her fluffy wrap around herself so dramatically she caught Gabriella's nose on the end of the fabric. Without waiting to be invited, Sharpay led the group into the apartment.

Gabriella locked the door behind Kelsi and Taylor, then stood in front of the TV to face the council on the couch.

Taylor spoke first. "Is everything alright?"

Gabriella averted her eyes downward and happened to catch sight of the coffee table, realizing all her issues were already laid out in the open for them to see. She dove forward to scoop up everything while saying, "No, everything's fine." She rushed into the kitchen and dumped the receipts over the old magazines stacked on the counter. Their eyes had followed her the entire way and continued to watch as she moved back to her spot in front of the broken TV.

This was all too weird.

Gabriella understood their concern since she hadn't responded, but why come all the way out here to visit? Why bother with all this just for her?

Kelsi asked, "Madame let you go, didn't she?"

Gabriella nodded.

Sharpay asked, "Did she tell you why?"

Gabriella admitted, "I realized a client had brought in a real weapon but didn't stop the session. I kept going, putting everyone in danger. Then he asked the next dominatrix assigned to him if he could bring it because of what I had done, and whoever it was told Madame."

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "That's so stupid! The men at the dungeon are obviously some of the weirdest ones out there, but they aren't homicidal. And even if he intended on doing that, he wouldn't have given it to _you_ to use on him. Madame is being ridiculous."

Taylor said, "You shouldn't have done it, but you know that now."

Gabriella explained, "I even knew it at the time, but I just kept going. I was afraid he wouldn't want me again if I ratted him out. I knew it was stupid. I don't know why I didn't stop."

"Regardless, she should have given you a warning. I think firing you was way too far."

"It doesn't matter. She'll never let me back in even if the whole world agreed I shouldn't have been let go. I have other things to worry about now."

Kelsi asked, "Like those bills?"

Gabriella sighed. "I have next month covered. After that, I don't know. Even after I find someone to take over my lease, I still might not be able to afford this city. I'd have to move home. I have no idea what else to do. I can't make it by with just my daycare income. I love those kids, but working overtime would drain the life out of me. I can't fall behind in my classes either. I really have no idea what to do."

Taylor suggested, "Are there any expenses you can cut, even temporarily?"

"Nothing more that I haven't already thought of. I was supposed to leave for Albuquerque tonight, but I needed to pick up extra shifts this weekend. The airline won't even give me a refund, but my tuition payments are already late. I have no choice. I have to stay to work and make up whatever money I can." Her bottom lip began to quiver, so she bit it down to keep it still. "It was going to be the first time I had seen my mom since she helped me move here half a year ago. We had been planning it for months."

Kelsi said, "You should still go see her."

"I can't."

Taylor said, "I think what Kelsi is saying is that even though you need the money, the trip is worth what you'd miss out on here."

"Exactly," Kelsi said. "You're going to be in financial trouble no matter what. Might as well see your family for some support while you're going through it."

"I already canceled the reservation."

"Would you drive?"

Gabriella reluctantly said, "I _guess_ so. It'd take the whole night, but theoretically yes."

Sharpay gasped, "You could surprise her! That'd be so cute!"

Taylor reached into her purse and said, "If you need some gas money, I have about sixty in cash on me right now."

Kelsi offered, "I can pitch in an extra twenty for snacks!"

Sharpay said, "Forget that. I'll lend you my diamond card for the weekend. Just keep it under, oh I don't know, how about five thousand? That should be enough for a nice weekend get-together."

Gabriella and the others froze, still unsure whether or not this woman was serious or so far above their income bracket that her suggestion was reasonable to her. Gabriella finally found the words. "I'm just visiting my mom, Sharpay. Not buying her a new car."

"Whatever you want to do, pay me back whenever." She reached out the card to her.

Gabriella entered a standoff with the limitless plastic captured beneath Sharpay's manicured pinch. Her name was printed beneath the numbers in bold silver letters: SHARPAY EVANS. "Go on," Sharpay waved it.

Gabriella walked away towards the window and decided, "I shouldn't spend money I don't have."

"You'll have it soon enough," Sharpay said. "I'll make sure of it."

Gabriella laughed at Sharpay's disconnect. She truly had no idea what it was like not to have money. It wasn't going to appear out of nowhere because she said she'd make sure of it. "I'm not comfortable taking your money."

Sharpay rolled her eyes and sighed, seemingly annoyed and inconvenienced by Gabriella's reluctance. "Trust me. I wouldn't lend my card to anyone I thought wouldn't pay me back. I'll even help you pay me back."

"How?"

Taylor suspiciously doubled down, "Yeah, how?"

"Don't worry about it yet," Sharpay said. "Go enjoy the weekend with your mom and we'll get to work when you come back. No worries."

Gabriella said, "If you don't tell me now, I'm going to worry about it my whole trip."

"Fine, prepare yourselves. This is going to be a tough sales pitch."

Taylor sarcastically commented, "Oh boy, this is going to be good."

Kelsi snorted.

Sharpay pointed at the two warningly before turning to Gabriella. "Remember last weekend when we made ice cream sundaes and complained about college and all that other stuff? _Bonding_, if you will."

Gabriella answered, "Of course, how could I forget?"

"We talked about many things, but do you remember me mentioning a special arrangement I had made with a certain client?"

Gabriella sternly said, "I'm not hooking."

"Don't assume what I'm saying. It's rude."

"So what is it you're suggesting I do?"

"Before we made our arrangement exclusive, he disclosed some very personal secrets to me. He had arrangements with numerous other women with various degrees of intimacy. Some of them he had sex with, others only oral, but half of them he only ever took out to dinner. This guy is only in his late forties, slightly grey but not balding. He's a brilliant and kind man, but he's lonely. Very lonely. Half the time, he just wants a hot date to wine and dine and talk to so he's not talking to an empty chair like a psycho. Not just anyone could do it, either. All these girls were beautiful, like you. They would need to get all glammed up and keep their physique maintained, but he paid them a ridiculous amount. I mean _ridiculous_."

"How ridiculous are we talking?"

"With a desperate enough man?" she paused and looked up to the corner of the room in thought. "You could earn rent for this shithole in one date, no offense."

"None taken. It _is_ a shithole."

Sharpay leaned in and whispered, "That's in _one_ night, Gabriella."

Taylor interrupted, "So what do _you_ get out of this, Sharpay?"

"Nothing."

"Sales pitch."

"What?"

"That's what you called it. You said this was going to be a tough sales pitch. So, what are you selling? What do you make from this?"

"I don't make anything," Sharpay defended herself. "I knew she would be apprehensive. That's all I meant."

Taylor's lips curled together and her eyes narrowed in thought. She took her time carefully looking over Sharpay as if she could read the dangers like a sign across her forehead. She said, "You're shady, do you know that?"

"You're tacky, did you know _that_?"

Gabriella yelled, "Ladies! Friends! C'mon, there's no reason for that kind of talk."

Sharpay said, "It's only banter, Gabriella dearest."

Gabriella turned the conversation back to its intended topic and said, "I don't know if I should, but I'm going to trust you Sharpay."

"And you're much smarter than you look. See? You're not the only one who can give backhanded compliments."

"How do I do it?"

Kelsi spoke up, "Gabriella, I don't think this is good idea."

Sharpay said, "You can think about it a bit longer if you want. We can't do anything until you get back anyways. Take your time and call me if you have any questions. Until then," she set her card on the table between she and Gabriella, "treat your mom." She stood and adjusted the wrap across her top again. "We'll leave you to pack. You have quite the drive ahead of you."

* * *

The passenger seat was filling up with the wrappers she blindly tossed aside. There was no time to stop for a meal, or much of anything besides gas. She closely monitored her fluid intake and set her cruise to six miles per hour above the speed limit. A sliver of sun coated the desert in deep maroon shadows like blotches of wine stains over the sand. The past eight hours of driving the same desert highway was painfully monotonous. A cylindrical package of Mentos repeatedly rolled up against the side of her shoe as if it was trying to keep her awake.

Finally, at fifteen minutes past ten, Gabriella arrived at the little townhouse snuggled between a food bank and Albuquerque's second-ever gay bar. She maneuvered her car between the closed garage door and the trash bins at the end of the short brick driveway. Her steps were quick and excited as she bounced up to the stoop. A quick knock and a minute's wait later, her mom answered the door. The sudden shift in her expression from confusion to pure, unfiltered joy was worth every second of the boring car ride.

"Gabriella!" she cheered with tears of joy streaming down her face.

Gabriella pulled the screen door aside and went into her mother's arms. She said, "Mama, please. Don't cry."

The two kept their arms around each other as they turned inside, and Lisa sniffled into the back of her hand. She said, "You little brat, you told me you couldn't make it!" She swatted her arm.

Gabriella laughed. "I thought I wouldn't!"

"What changed?"

"I had some friends help me out."

"The ones from the diner?"

"That's right," she lied.

"I need to send you home with enough Thank You brownies to last the holidays."

"They definitely deserve it." Gabriella followed her mom to the living room where the school portraits and photographs from her childhood surrounded them. It was a new addition since the last time she had left, and it saddened her. "What's with the shrine? You know I'm not dead."

Lisa wore a timid smile as she said, "I'm just so proud of you, Gabriella."

_ How little you know_, Gabriella thought.

"How was the drive?" Lisa asked.

"Tiring."

"Do you need to sleep?"

Gabriella suggested, "How about coffee instead?"

"Yes! We can stay up all night and gossip." Lisa intended it as a joke, but soon enough it was two in the morning with the women perched in the same spots and sipping their third servings.

Gabriella finished talking about some of her coursework for her graduate program, and then there was a slight lull. Lisa thoughtfully looked off into blank space as if something was just on the tip of her tongue, and Gabriella wondered what it could be. She asked, "What is it, mom?"

She cleared her throat and stretched forward to set her mug on the coffee table that was just a bit too far out of reach. Her hands protectively folded together on her lap and her gaze averted to the rug. Gabriella was carefully watching her mother's movements and grew more and more concerned with each second of hesitation and nervousness that passed. "There was something…_someone_ I wanted to tell you about."

"Oh my God, you have a boyfriend!"

Lisa quietly said in a voice so small it was barely audible, "Kind of."

"What else could it be? A fiancé?"

"No. Not a boyfriend, but a…girlfriend."

Gabriella felt what she could only assume being a look of horror occupy her face. She fought to regain her composure and began to speak before her thoughts had fully organized. What came out of her mouth resembled incoherent baby babble. After a few seconds to breathe, she tried again, "Are you joking?"

Lisa's tone mirrored her look of disappointment. "No, I'm not."

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm just surprised, Mom. The only person I've ever seen you with is my father, and now _this_? I'm sorry if I seem upset. I just…I don't…"

"It's shocking, honey. You're allowed to be shocked. And I'm sorry if you're confused. I wish I had been brave enough to tell you sooner. I wanted to, but I was unsure and scared."

"How did this all happen?"

"The girls at the nursing facility were talking nonstop about all these dating apps on their phones. One for farmers, one for gay men, another for one-night stands. I was curious so I signed up, and when it asked what I was looking for, I figured, 'why the heck not?' Then I matched with her and the rest is history."

Gabriella nodded. "I'm happy for you, Mom. Really, I am."

"What about you, mija?"

"What _about_ me?"

"You know! Where's your man? Or woman?"

"Man."

"Ah _ha_! I knew you were hiding something from me!"

Gabriella felt her heart jump into her throat. The accusation suddenly put her on edge, and she needed a second to remind herself that her mom didn't know any of the important secrets. She explained, "No, no, no. It would be a man _if_ I had one, but I don't. Not anywhere near me."

"I know a big city like that has plenty of eligible bachelors. I may not be as quick as I once was, but you cannot fool me. Lord knows a beautiful girl like you is only single if she wants to be."

"So maybe I want to be."

"And that's fine by me." Lisa picked the cold mug off the coffee table and offered her hand out to take Gabriella's, saying, "Let's get you to bed. We'll need to be well rested for tomorrow."

* * *

Lisa had prepared freshly squeezed orange juice and a tray of breakfast enchiladas, and Gabriella nonstop expressed her gratitude. She hadn't eaten anything with much sustenance the previous day on the road. The most protein she had was a little pouch with two hard boiled eggs and a thin stick of jerky from the gas station.

The women didn't have much to chat about since mostly everything had already been discussed a short eight hours prior. Instead, the morning news aired on the small flat screen hung between the kitchen and living room.

"Have you been going to church?" Lisa asked suddenly.

"Of course."

"Good."

"Have you?"

"Of course! Have I ever missed church, except when I was sick or giving birth?"

"Well, I just thought that maybe with the girlfriend you…distanced yourself?" Gabriella knew it was a valid question since the church her mom and dad used to attend when she was a child was strict orthodox Catholic. Regardless, she could tell it was a sore spot when she saw wrinkles deepen between her mom's eyes.

"I go to a _new_ church now," Lisa said.

Gabriella slurped her orange juice accidentally and felt like a kid in trouble again because of how often her mom told her not to when she was little. But the moment to reprimand passed and Gabriella relaxed, gently placing the glass back to its rightful spot on the dining table.

"She comes with me," Lisa said.

"What was that?"

"My girlfriend, Renée, she comes with me to church. Well, I suppose I go as her guest since it was her church originally. She invited me one time and I never went anywhere else again after that."

"You both should take me tomorrow."

"I would love to. But Gabriella," Lisa began, crumpling up the napkin from her lap and putting it on her finished plate. "You should know that Renée has known about you for as long as she's known me, and it's going to matter so much to her that you two get along. It's important to me, but you also should tell me if there's something you don't like. You have an eye for people, mija."

"How do you mean?"

"An instinct for character."

Gabriella felt her body disappear as the thoughts occupied so much space in her mind. She was the greatest bullshitter of the twenty-first century to have her own mother so convinced. She was incapable and lost, with no sense of who she was, let alone anyone else.

The words spewed from her mouth before she could stop herself. She blurted, "Mom, there's something I wanted to tell you."

Lisa looked at her expectantly.

She felt the tears form and the tension behind her eyes like someone tugging on them from behind.

"What is it?" Lisa asked.

Gabriella shook her head and said, "It's nothing."

"_Mija_, talk to me. Tell me what's bothering you."

Gabriella shamefully half-lied, "I lost my job at the diner."

"Honey, I'm so sorry. Why did they let you go?"

"Bullshit drama. I don't want to get into it."

"Have you found something new?"

"A friend is recommending me to her job."

"What is it?"

She paused to think of something. "Elderly care."

"If you want to come live at home for a little while, I can talk to the director at my facility and probably get you on the schedule."

"I have my apartment lease in Vegas that I can't afford to break. I'm just so stressed about it, that's all I wanted to say. I don't want you to think that I needed more help or anything like that."

"I don't think that about you, my dear. If I was concerned about you making it I never would have let you leave."

Gabriella gave a sad, half-hearted smile. "I'm sorry I dumped all this on you now. Sometimes it's just too overwhelming."

"It's okay. I can carry whatever it is you need to unload." Lisa rubbed her shoulder consolingly and grabbed her dirty plate. Gabriella watched as she loaded the dishwasher, choking down the other secrets bubbling up to her lips. As much as she believed her mom's love was unconditional, she didn't want to put it to the test. Maybe some things were too unforgiveable, and some secrets that were impossible to un-speak.

* * *

The afternoon welcomed a nauseating, AC-breaking heatwave across all of Albuquerque. Their plans to meet up with Renée for lunch were quickly pushed back to the evening to avoid the sweltering heat, and Gabriella occupied herself with reading her old diaries. She cringed at her secret poems for her high school crushes and giggled at the shenanigans she got into with former friends. As much as she loved the freedom of Las Vegas, her history in Albuquerque would always keep the city in her heart.

Gabriella heard a few knocks on her door, and hid the diary back with the others in its cardboard box. "Gabriella?" Lisa said. "Come downstairs, we have a visitor."

"Is it Renée?" Gabriella asked to no answer, and immediately felt a jolt of suspicion that she blew off just as quickly as it appeared.

She came down the stairs and turned into the living room. Lisa stepped aside with a sad expression of guilt written across her features, and Gabriella locked eyes with the man sitting on the couch.

"What the fuck, Mom?"

"Honey, he's traveled a long way to see you."

"Was this your plan all along? Invite me home just to force him onto me again?"

"Of course not!"

"Gabriella," the man said as he stood. "I think it's time we talked."

"I have no interest in speaking with you."

He chuckled.

She knew she shouldn't engage, but her resolve was weak. She'd been waiting to scream at someone, to become truly unhinged and release all her stress. If there was one person who deserved it, it was her father. "That wasn't a joke," she snapped.

"I'm sorry, but I find it amusing you still act like a bratty teenager."

Gabriella faced her mother. "Either he leaves or I do."

"Listen to what he has to say," Lisa said, "You two need to work things out. You deserve a relationship with your father."

"She and I have been on good terms for years," he said. "I don't understand why I can't do the same with you."

"You hurt my mom," Gabriella answered. "It's as simple as that."

"And I'm sorry, Gabriella. I will always be sorry for what I did. There's not a day that goes by where I don't regret my actions."

Gabriella scoffed. "We're not going to make any progress as long as you keep lying."

"I'm not lying. I _am_ sorry."

"I know for a fact you're not sorry. That's what narcissists like you do. You play the victim, and don't give a shit about who you've hurt. You may have my mom convinced, but you'll never convince me."

"What more can I do? How can I prove it to you? What can I say?"

"Answer me this: Were you sorry when you left my mom and I for your mistress? Were you sorry when you married that homewrecker? Are you sorry every night you sleep next to that whore?"

"Do _not_ speak about her like that!"

"Fuck you!" She screamed.

Lisa attempted to intervene, positioning herself in between the two and saying, "That's enough!"

"Fuck you too!" Gabriella stomped up to her room and burst through the door, flinging all her clothes into the duffle bag and backpack, only pausing when she heard Lisa standing in the doorway. She walked up to her and said, "If you want to talk to him, and be on good terms with the man who abandoned us, that's your own business. I don't agree with it, but I will respect it. But you need to respect my choices, too. You cannot force me to forgive anybody._ I_ can't even force myself!"

Lisa stuttered, "I think if you two worked it out, if you _tried_ to understand him-"

"You think I'm trying to hate my own father?" Gabriella softened her tone, now speaking to reach an understanding. "You think I don't want someone to walk me down the aisle one day, and let him be a grandfather to my kids? It kills me, too. I loved Dad. There are some things I can't forgive, and this is one of them. So please, _please_ let it go."

"I didn't want to upset you, Gabriella," Lisa said, looking as regretful as she felt. "I know you're trying. I will respect your choice. I only hope that one day you two can have a better relationship." She looked over Gabriella's shoulder at the open duffle bag on the bed and said, "You don't have to leave. He's gone now. Please stay, we have so much left to do before you leave."

"Okay." Gabriella silently hugged her goodnight and waited to hear her reach the bottom of the stairs before she removed her most recent diary from her bag.

_Note to self:_ _Dad will never deserve you again after the choices _he_ made, not yours._

* * *

**AN: Thank you for reading, and a special thank you to those who review old "abandoned" stories. You never know who you might inspire to write again ;)**

**Please, please, please keep yourselves safe during these crazy times! Don't be a covidiot.**

**Let me know what you thought of this chapter. I always appreciate your feedback and look forward to reviews! **


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